Watching
by Lena86
Summary: Marian's thoughts on Robin when he returns from the Holy Land. Robin/Marian. Reposted due to heavy editing.
1. Will You Tolerate This?

'So the king is starving in the Holy Land and you have failed him, but "it's more than we've ever managed before"!'

'Robin of Locksley!'

I manange to avoid turning my head with unseemly quickness only by forcing myself to remember that I am exceedingly angry with said Lord of Locksley. I watch him with cool detachment as he and Much make their way down the stairs in a characteristically noisy manner.

I can see he is angry. He unbuckles his sword and throws it to Much, impatiently telling the lords to continue their discussion. As if that is possible. Robin has always been bad at masking his anger. And now he is furious and it is obvious.

As the sheriff begins to speak to Robin, I find the words drifting over me, hearing them but not really listening. Robin seems uncomfortable in the chair. Outwardly his body language proclaims ease and confidence – as always -, but I know him too well. I know how angry he is. How could he not be? To return home and find Locksley in the state it is in must be burning him. Nevertheless, he does not shout, and he smiles altogether too much.

Abruptly, Robin rises and stalks over to the sheriff. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for him to make a mistake. There is something of the air of the battlefield settled on Robin's too-thin shoulders and for a moment I am afraid he will strike the sheriff.

Instead, he turns his back on the sheriff – almost as dangerous as striking the man – and begins to speak of the people.

When he retakes his seat I barely manage to avoid rolling my eyes as the sheriff launches into a diatribe about virtuous men. I have heard it before, we all have. Except Robin.

I watch the Lord of Locksley. He sits perched on the back of his chair, smirking slightly. When the sheriff finally finishes his little speech, Robin says, 'There is a celebration of my return tonight in the great hall.'

'Indeed,' the sheriff replies, not looking up at Robin.

'Well, I trust none of us _virtuous_ men will be feasting?' It is all I can do not to laugh out loud.

-*-

I stand here, watching Robin, as he witnesses the hanging of his peasants. He doesn't flinch when the Sheriff calls for his 'priest' to be arrested. That little gambit reminds me so much of the Robin I grew up with, I find myself seeing the boy I knew standing there, instead of the man who returned from the Holy Land. He doesnt sho any sign of the anger he'd professed to my father at the unfair hangings of the boys from his village.

As much as I hate to admit it I _know_ Robin of Locksley. I can see–though it is have invisible to everyone else – how he has suddenly frozen. As the condemned men drop, the sheriff and Gisbourne move away, leaving Robin looking small and alone on the steps. I close my eyes, unable to watch any more.

'What is he _doing_?'

I look up at my father's incredulous whisper. Robin is fighting the guards, yanking a bow from one man's hand and notching an arrow, aiming at the rope suspending one of his peasants. _Surely not…_

'People of Nottingham!'

The rest of his words are drowned out by the rushing sound in my ears. _He was going to be killed_. He fires the arrow and it slices through the rope, dropping the man to the wood of the gallows.

Robin is still speaking to the crowd. 'Will you tolerate this injustice?' He turns the bow on its side and lays two arrows on it, drawing back the string. 'I, for one, will not!' He releases the arrows, severing the last two ropes simultaneously.

I am surprised at myself for feeling a sudden warm rush of pride, the feeling that it was _my_ Robin who has done this thing overwhelming me. I stamp down on the feeling, forcing it to stop as quickly as it started. He is no longer _my_ Robin.

Peasants rush forward to claim the men Robin has saved, drawing them down into the crowd. Luckily for them, the guards all have their attention on Robin. He throws away his bow as a guard engages him. Stangely, neither the Sheriff nor Gisbourne have moved or given any order.

The reason for this soon becomes clear as I head Much screaming. 'Master, help!'

I look up in the direction of Much's voice to see him being held over the edge of the battlements, suspended by two castle guards. I find myself looking back at Robin, eager to see what he will do.

The Sheriff speaks to him to him, enjoyment showing in every feature. Robin snarls something in reply, then turns and hurls the sword he has won from one of the guards, sending it spinning through the air and knocking out the guards holding Much.

I find myself staring. This should not be possible.

Much shouts again, 'Master, look out!'

I find myself looking back at the – now definitely former – Lord of Locksley. One of the guards is aiming an arrow directly at his chest. From that close a distance he does not need to possess even a tenth of Robin's skill to ensure his arrow finds its target.

Robin is just standing there, his hands raised. I see the sheriff give the bow-weilding guard a nod and make my decision. I pull one of the ornamental daggers from my hair and throw it at the guard, hitting him in the arm. The arrow misses Robin by inches, and I feel relief flood my body. Luckily, nobody else appears to have noticed my intercession.

Robin, of course, spots the dagger and looks around for the source, his eyes settling on me. I shoot him what I desperately hope is a haughty look – my mind screaming at him to run - before turning away, unable to watch any more.

As I walk into the castle, needing to get away from the scene of the single most irrational act I have ever taken part in, I just _know_ Robin is smirking.

-*-

_Infuriating, arrogant, fool!_ The three words are going around and around in my head like a condemnation, or a prayer. Does he always have to be so… _Robin_?

Here am I, rescuing him with a perfectly good plan. A plan that would have worked. A plan that would have done away with all the danger and ridiculous posturing that went along with it. And he would rather be charming at me!

_I love it when you look at me in anger._

Over and over my brain replays those words, and each time I feel my anger grow significantly. My anger is almost sufficient to destroy any thoughts of how my stomach still manages to do flips when I am in his presence.

There is a commotion in the courtyard. Robin, no doubt.

She made her way to a window and watched. Robin, indeed.

He is standing up on the battlements, shouting at Much, who is fighting in the courtyard below, along with the other outlaws Robin appears to have fallen in with.

Finally getting Much's attention, Robin throws him a rope. 'Tie this off!'

I should walk away. Everyone knows Robin and I were once betrothed. Watching him now could lead people to believe I am in league with the now outlawed Lord of Locksley. .

I find I cannot go. Part of me needs to be sure that he gets away, but part of me is intrigued, watching Much runa bout the courtyard for a few moments, trying to find somewhere to tie the rope off.

The big, hairy outlaw shouts at Much, 'Here!' The man takes the rope and looks up to Robin. I, too, turn my attention back to huim, wondering what on Earth he is planning.

I watch, my jaw dropping in shock, as he swoops down from the battlements, using his bow to suspend him from the rope. I find myself smiling as he knocks some castle guards to the ground. He reaches the large outlaw and immediately picks up a sword and begins to fight, his movements fluid, effortless.

I remember myself and school my features into a suitable expression of shock and contempt, in case anyone –_ especially Robin_ – should look my way.

I watch him send his gang out through the portcullis, fight his way to the mechanism, and send the heavy gate into the ground, rolling under it at the last moment.

I almost feel a pang of loss as I see him rise behind the portcullis, which seems to symbolise our lives from now on: me here and him there, on the wrong side of the castle gate.

He turns as he rises, looking back and spotting me immediately, which makes me think he knew I was there all along. He grins and blows me a kiss.

Glad that I managed to pull a suitable expression onto her features before his eyes found me, I turned and walk away from the window.

I find myself wondering, as I head towards the stables and my horse, whether there has ever been a time when Robin, Lord of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, has not secretly been what they are calling him now: Robin Hood.

-*-


	2. A Clue: No

_Author's Note: I wrote this conclusion a very long time ago. Just found it on my computer and realised it was never posted. As I like to be able to mark things as 'complete' - here it is._

_

* * *

_

Watching him leave, I realise that it will probably be the last time. Robin has never walked away from me with so little fuss, has never given up on an argument.

Before he left, before he even thought of leaving, Robin and I fought often. Most often about the most ridiculously trivial things: about why we were in trouble; about just exactly whose fault it was that the plan had gone wrong.

Much, poor Much, always running between us trying to get us to make it up. I remember one such instance. Robin and I had fought bitterly. We had been play-fighting together, and Robin had knocked me to the ground, causing me to hit my head on a tree root. I was fine, but Robin was angry at himself.

Hours after I had ridden away from Robin, leaving him standing alone in the forest, Much found me in the stables at Nottingham, brushing down my horse.

'_Lady Marian?'_

_I turned to see Much standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. 'Did Robin send you?'_

'_You know he didn't,' Much said. He sighed and picked up a brush, helping me with the horse. 'He should have,' Much continued. 'But my master does not always do as he should.' He paused and I knew he was giving me a sidelong look. 'Or as he wishes.'_

_I laughed at that. 'Robin always does exactly as he wishes.'_

'_That is not so, if he did, he would be here,' Much said. _

'_So you're saying I should find him,' I said, indignant._

'_No,' Much said, giving the horse a final stroke and then laying the brush on the table beside him. 'I am saying that, when he comes to apologise, you should let him.'_

True to form, Robin had arrived at my window that night, no mean feat when you considered how high up my room in Nottingham was.

Now, however… now I do not think Robin will appear at the last moment to save me. The Robin that returned from the Holy Land is changed indeed from the impulsive boy who went away. Whose skin insults could not pierce.

So I must marry Gisbourne. Despite Robin's best efforts I must marry the man who has taken everything away from him.

As I prepare for bed, an image keeps swimming in front of my eyes. Robin, in the cave after Djaq discovered I was alive. I'd not seen Robin cry before. Even as a child, he preferred to sulk and indeed, was able to do so for an astonishingly long amount of time.

So, Robin still loves me. It is childish to think that will change anything. That it should.

This priest drones, making the Latin dull and hard to follow. Guy's middle name is Crispin? Good to know. I find myself wondering if that is what has made him so bitter and realise I am approaching hysteria.

When I hear shouting and the bell being rung frantically I welcome the distraction. Then I see it is Much, running between myself and Robin once again. Or perhaps not.

'The King is an impostor! The King is not in Nottingham!'

I look at Gisbourne and ask, 'Did you know this?' already knowing the answer.

When the priest shouts that there must be legal grounds to object to the wedding, Much rejoins that he has moral grounds. He announces Gisbourne's crimes to the entire church. Then he announces mine.

'And, her heart belongs to another! Let her tell you that.'

I stare at Much blankly. Realising that he has just put me in terrible jeopardy, and realising I don't care. He is right. My heart does, and always has, belonged to Robin. And now I marry his mortal enemy in Locksley church.

Gisbourne is watching me as he quietly reminds me that my father is in danger. As though I need reminding. I know I have no choice. 'It is not true.' I hear the words, I recognise my voice, but all the same, they are not mine. 'I am sorry,' I say, looking towards Much, who stands, utterly dumbfounded, between two of Gisbourne's men. I can barely hear the rest of my sentence as I allow the words to form themselves from my own propriety and desperation.

Much is astounded, desperate to believe he is mistaken in what he has heard. Desperate to believe that his faith has not been misplaced. He needs me to save Robin. As the priest continues and Gisbourne slides the ring onto my finger, Much is dragged from the church, screaming my name. Telling me that Robin needs me.

But my father, the people of Nottingham – they need me more. And surely this is the best way to serve them? To keep them just a little safer?

'Wise decision,' Guy Crispin Gisbourne says, somewhere in front of me. 'In time you will thank me.'

This is not the best way. This is not even _close_ to the best way. I remove the ring from my left hand, sliding it easily onto my right. The priest, startled at this, tells me the ring must go on the left.

I can feel the tension inside me building, strength rushing through me. I am afraid, and angry and this man, this ridiculous man, has dared to patronise me! What I am about to do is very, very stupid. And possibly the most exciting thing I have ever considered.

'No, no! The right is better!' I rip the veil from my head and punch Gisbourne, hitting him square in the jaw with all the force my time as the Night Watchman can bring to bear. As he falls, I run.

Outside the church I am utterly unsurprised to see a horse approaching. Robin has come for me after all. As he rides towards me he is shouting. 'Do you take this man - and this horse – as your route out of here?'

I'm laughing at the supreme ridiculousness of the situation. But this is Robin, and I can't hide how happy this whole scene is making me at this moment. 'I do!'

Much has climbed out of the pond Gisbourne's men threw him into and is approaching us, his expression desperate. He tells Robin that there is an impostor in Nottingham. Their friends are in danger. Cold panic washes over me.

'Robin, my father! He leads the rebellion!'

Then I am on the back of Robin's horse, riding for Nottingham with my veil lying forgotten on the road behind us.

/

As we reach the outside of the city I dismount so we can split up. I don't want to leave Robin but I _must_ find my father before it is too late. As I turn to run towards the east gate, Robin calls my name, seemingly as eager to part as I am.

I turn and run back towards him and he leans down, perilously low in his saddle. Then he presses his lips to mine and, for just a moment, I forget the danger, the impostor, the fact that Robin will probably slid from his horse at any moment and end up in the dust.

Then Robin is gone. I watch Robin Hood ride away, then turn and run towards Nottingham. I shouldn't enjoy this, I know. My father is in danger. Robin is in danger. _I_ am in danger – I have, after all, just punched Guy of Gisbourne in the face and escaped from our wedding. I should worry, and concern myself with how in the world we will return to the status quo once the impostor king has been unmasked and we have ruined the Sheriff's plans… But where would be the fun in that?


End file.
